Enticing An Angel (4 page)

"Well, this is me," she replied.

"Do you have any coffee?" he asked.

"Coffee?" she asked him warily. "That's what
you want?"

"Well, I had those drinks with dinner, and I
don't want to drive home drunk."

Much like earlier in the day, Melanie eyed
him from head to foot; and much like earlier in the day, she seemed
to shrug her shoulders and accede to his request.

"Okay, coffee, but that doesn't mean sex. I'm
only allowing the coffee because it's such a lame excuse to get
into my apartment, and you look so cute standing there expecting me
to believe it."

"Melanie, I really do want coffee," he
said.

"Uh huh," she replied in disbelief as she
turned to the lobby door and used a key to let them inside.

Michael laughed and found that it was easy to
be honest with this woman, and that's exactly what he did next.

"Look, Melanie. I'm not going to turn down
sex, but I'm really enjoying myself and don't want the evening to
end. If that means drinking a cup of coffee and having you kick me
out afterwards, then fine."

Melanie turned back to him for a second and
appeared to analyze him again. She didn't seem to come to a
conclusion about whether she believed him, but she did shrug her
shoulders and continued to lead him through the lobby. They headed
up old creaking wooden steps, past small landings, and to the top
floor.

"Well, this is it," she said as she opened
the door to her apartment.

It was an odd shaped room that reminded
Michael of a Tetris piece. He looked up to the high vaulted
ceiling— a perk of being on the top floor—and noted the large wood
beams that cut across the space for support of the roof. The red
brickwork of the outer walls could be seen in patches, peeking
through a poor attempt to plaster the walls, and the warped floor
was made of similar wood as the beams; the entire place had an
endearing rustic feel.

"It's very nice," Michael said as he noted
the small open kitchen with an island in a far corner and the
sparse but usable furniture.

He moved farther into the space and tried to
take in the rest of the apartment. The bedroom, if it could be
called that, was actually a loft stuck to the far wall with a steep
wooden staircase for access. Michael could see the large bed set
upon the floor of the loft and had to wonder how she had gotten it
up there.

Melanie headed for the kitchen, presumably to
make his coffee, and Michael suddenly found his eyes drawn to one
odd corner of the room; it was more of an alcove really. The
lighting was softer here and he headed over to the recess, flipping
on a light switch as he did. The entire area lit up with floor
lamps and a single, but bright, overhead light.

"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed.

He couldn't take his eyes off what he was
seeing.

"Melanie, did you paint these?" he asked
without turning to her. He just stared at the multitude of
canvasses stacked in several places; they were leaning against the
outer walls and hung in a mismatch array on the brickwork

"Yes," she replied as she fumbled about the
kitchen.

Michael moved in closer. There were three
easels set about the area with one primary one in the middle. Each
one had a current work on its stand in some mode of creation. As he
scrutinized the work, he found himself enthralled. The artwork was
exquisite.

"Is this wet on wet?" he asked as he saw the
sheen from the far left canvas.

"Well, one of them is. Then I have an acrylic
and a standard oil painting."

Michael looked at the various array of
brushes and paints strewn about; there didn't seem to be much
organization to the area. He gingerly picked up a tube of paint and
glanced at it.

"Oh, wow," he said again. "You're painting
with lead based paint!"

"Yes, careful with that," she said as she
chuckled while watching him.

"Don't worry," he replied. "I wasn't going to
eat it."

"I'm not worried about your health, but that
tube of paint is a hundred dollars."

Michael's eyes widened again, and he suddenly
realized that he had lost count of how many times today this woman
had amazed him. Looking around at the various tubes on the floor
and workstations, he did some quick mental math and concluded that
she had thousands of dollars in material.

"Melanie, these are unbelievable. Look at
this one here," he said as he pointed to the center easel. "Your
perspectives are clear, and your brush strokes are so well defined
that the image seems to have a photographic quality."

Melanie came to his side and stared at him as
he stared at her work. He didn't realize she was there until she
spoke, and when she did, he startled.

"Are you familiar with art?" she asked.

"Yes, I already told you I like museums. The
Seattle Art Museum is a favorite place of mine. I'm kind of
surprised you only go for the parties."

Melanie shrugged, "I'm an artist and prefer
real life. I think most museums are stuffy and sterile. Art
shouldn't be displayed on a white wall with a placard next to it
telling you how to feel about it. Art should be hung in a warm room
or over a bed."

Michael returned his gaze to her work and
then moved about the floor, grabbing various canvases as he did.
Melanie didn't seem to mind and merely watched him as he examined
her work. She smiled at him and found that it took several attempts
to wrest his attention back to her.

"What?" he asked.

"Coffee," she said. "Do you want your
coffee?"

Michael smiled, "That depends. Is it actually
coffee?"

Melanie glared at him, and he just winked at
her in return. She moved to his position which was a crouched form
over one of her canvasses and leaned down to him. She eyed him
carefully, and he just watched her watching him. She seemed to be
thinking about something and for the life of him he had no idea
what it was.

"Do you really like them?" she asked
seriously.

Michael immediately became confused and then
stood rapidly making her stand and back up to give him room as he
did so.

"Of course," he answered honestly.

"Look at this painting here," he said as he
grabbed a canvas near him. "Your perspective is all wrong, and the
work is asymmetrical to an extreme. It seems to be painted in an
amateur fashion, but the brush strokes are fluid. Now, look at this
one," he said as he moved several feet and pulled another canvas
from the floor.

"This painting is just the opposite," he
continued, "so I know you have skill to paint properly, which means
the former painting was done with intention; you are purposely
confusing the viewer. It's like appreciating Picasso all the more
after seeing his standard paintings. The man could paint a portrait
like a master, but he consciously chose to paint his chosen art in
a very different fashion."

Michael turned to another canvass and began
to extol its merits, and Melanie watched him. She smiled and then
moved to him suddenly. She put her hand on his chest to quiet him
and looked up with a mischievous smile.

"I think you better take me to bed right
now," she said.

Michael took a moment to register her words.
His mind had been focused on the artwork he was seeing, and his
attention was held in sway by the demonstration of skill on the
canvas. When her words fully registered, he smiled. He was not a
stupid man and knew that he should appreciate another piece of
artwork at the moment, that artwork of course being her body.

Melanie darted her eyebrows up and down and
then headed off to the ladder of her loft.

"Come on, Mr. Angel. Let's see if you can be
a devil in the bed," she called back to him.

Michael followed quickly, smiling as he did
so. When he reached the loft, he had to duck his head to refrain
from hitting any of the beams. Melanie was already on the bed with
her back against the brick wall and eyeing him coyly. Michael had
to crawl across the bed to her position, and when he reached it, he
kept his hands on the mattress and leaned in to kiss her. She took
him warmly and then wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him in
closer. Michael was pulled off balance and had to reposition his
hands before he fell into her. He smiled as he did so and Melanie
smiled in response. They kissed while grinning and ended up doing
neither action very well.

"Do you really like them?" she whispered to
him.

Michael sat back and just grinned at her in
response. Her eyes were dancing, and he knew she didn't need the
reassurance. He winked at her and pulled her legs towards him,
forcing her away from the wall and into a laying position.

"Ah," she cried out with a laugh as her head
hit the pillow and bounced harmlessly. She didn't have time to
react, as Michael unbuttoned her pants and began ripping them off.
He tossed them to the floor and began to kiss her thighs.

"Oh, no Mr. Angel," she said as he began to
kiss her stomach and slide his body to the foot of the bed. "That
is very personal."

Michael ignored her and gingerly pulled her
free of her last restraining garment.

"Well," he said as he kissed her thighs and
carefully forced her legs apart. She resisted, but he was stronger.
"I am a very personal kind of guy."

Melanie didn't fight him too much and
surrendered the position with one caveat.

"You better be good at this," she said as she
grabbed his hair with one hand and began to bite a finger on the
other hand.

Oh, damn
, she thought after a few
seconds and a few tongue dashes from Michael,
he's good
.

Michael was slow at first. He was not a
player, but he had been with enough women to know that a day of
work and a woman's diet could affect this entire experience. His
tongue flicked gracefully, and just like with the personality of
his partner, he was pleased with what he experienced; she was
wonderful.

The pressure of her hand on his head was
perfect and Melanie moved her hips to position herself for him. As
he continued to tease her, she forced his head down onto her and
guided him. They worked together as a team; he took her hungrily
and she signaled to him what she found pleasing. When his eyes
glanced up, he could see that she had her own eyes closed and was
biting a nail.

She still had a blouse on, and this affected
his view of her breasts, but he didn’t mind too much; her chest was
heaving rapidly and he found that motion to be just as enjoyable.
She began to buck into him and he returned his gaze to his task.
Again, they worked as a team and when she came, both hands went to
his head and ground him into her. If Michael could have smiled he
would have, but he wasn’t about to cease his actions until she was
finished.

Her breathing calmed, and he kissed his way
up her stomach and around her blouse, then up to her neck. Melanie
smiled as he pulled away from her neck and slowly nuzzled her nose
while teasing her lips with his own.

"Melanie," he whispered as he caught her
gaze. "The paintings are amazing," he stated honestly.

Melanie smiled, wrapped her arms around his
neck and kissed him fully. She then rolled to one side, forcing
herself away from him. Sitting up, and with a swift motion, she
removed her blouse and bra. She sat there for a moment, naked and
hungry. Michael turned to his back and just watched her. She was
oddly backlit from the bright lights of the painting area below
them and at a distance. Half in light, half in shadow, he could
still make out her perky personality and the devilish grin that
took over her face.

"Your turn, Mr. Angel," she said as she
leaned in and began to remove his clothes. Michael smiled, widened
his eyes, and welcomed his lover.

Michael awoke and took a moment to remember
where he was. When he did, he smiled and reached across the bed;
Melanie wasn't there. He took a deep breath and sat up slowly while
looking about the area of the loft; wherever she was, it wasn’t in
the immediate vicinity.

Light from the painting alcove cast eerie
shadows across the ceiling, and Michael crawled across the bed so
that he could peer to the lower level. Thankfully, he had
remembered the low ceiling and refrained from getting out of bed
and standing; that would have been painful.

As he looked below, he found his lover and
smiled. She was at her center canvas and focused on applying paint.
Michael watched her for a moment and then decided to join her. He
found his pants, put them on, then found his phone and checked the
time. It was early, only four AM.

Not wanting to startle Melanie, he made no
attempt to be quiet in his approach. The steps from the loft
creaked noisily as they adjusted to his weight and the wooden
floors, while quieter, certainly made sounds of their own as he
walked to her.

She was so focused on her canvas that she
didn't notice he was near, or if she did, she didn't acknowledge
the fact. Michael watched her from behind, remaining quiet as he
did.

Melanie mixed one paint color with another on
her palette and then applied it to her work. She was quick,
methodical, and efficient. Deciding he didn't want to interrupt, he
moved off to the side and sat on her couch—a raggedy excuse for
furniture, but it smelled clean and was comfortable.

Several minutes passed and he simply watched
Melanie paint. Bathed in light, she continued to move without a
care in the world; nothing seemed to matter other than the task in
front of her. From time to time, she would reach to her left and
take a drink of what appeared to be tea; whatever it was, it was in
a clear glass filled with ice.

When the glass was emptied after one such
absent-minded sip, it was set aside. Michael stood, went to his
lover, grabbed the glass, and headed to the kitchen. He smelled the
contents and nodded his head; it was ice tea. There was just enough
left for him to determine that it was sweetened lightly.